


Hello, Mr. God? It's Me, Laquisha

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: A girl prays for a friend. Castiel answers.A story written for the 10th anniversary Castiel Zine "Glory!"





	Hello, Mr. God? It's Me, Laquisha

**Author's Note:**

> We got permission to post these like six weeks ago but I'm just that slow. Stories for Glory! had to be Castiel-centric, canon compliant, SFW, and ship-free. Here's what I came up with.
> 
> Beta'd by the inestimable allrealities/cyborgtopus.
> 
> Learn more about the zine here: https://castielzine.tumblr.com/

"Dear Mr. God, I’m lonely.”

A vision of the supplicant came to Castiel: a young girl, maybe 6 or 7 years old, kneeling beside a small bed. Her black hair was braided in neat, parallel rows and threaded through beads. The brown skin of one of her arms was covered by a cast. 

“Please send me a friend.”

Answering a prayer was at the discretion of the receiving angel. Castiel glanced to where Sam and Dean slept, stretched out fully clothed atop the covers in their darkened motel room. He’d avoided responding to prayers since he’d rebelled - was surprised he still heard them, considering his loss of heavenly status - but the cast on the girl’s arm worried him. The Winchesters were asleep, as safe as he could make them.

Since turning his back on heaven, Castiel understood the importance of friends as he never had before. If she needed a friend, the least Castiel could do was try.

Castiel spread his wings and flew.

The bedroom had seemed large from the child’s point of view, but from Castiel’s perspective confined in Jimmy’s body, it was claustrophobic. His hair brushed the slanted ceiling, his knees bumped the edge of the bed, and his trenchcoat snagged on the uneven paint of the wall behind him.

Alarmed, wide-eyed, the girl’s mouth fell open and she started to her feet, hands still clasped in prayer.

Perhaps Castiel should have considered the ramifications of a strange man materializing in a child’s room.

Too late now.

“Hello, Lonely. I’m Castiel.”

“Are you an angel?” she asked, concern morphing to excitement.

“I am,” said Castiel.

The girl turned her eyes skyward. “Thank you, Mr. God. But why did you send a friend who tells dad jokes?” She stuck out her tongue. “Blech!” 

“I do not joke about the holy Father,” Castiel objected. “That would be blasphemy.” 

“If you say so,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m Laquisha. Nice to meet you!” She grinned, showing a gap where she’d lost a tooth. Her splinted arm dropped to her side. She rocked on her heels. 

She didn’t say anything more.

She expected something.

Castiel had no idea what.

How should Castiel ‘friend?’

_ Were she an adult...how would the Winchesters interact with her?  _

_ Dean would break the ice by offering her a beer. _

_ Not an option. _

_ Sam would assess her interests and engage in an intellectual discussion with her. _

_ Perhaps… _

Castiel glanced about the room seeking hints. A worn blue blanket covered the neatly made bed. A wall clock depicted a Disney princess. Crayon drawings hung on the back of the door. Four photographs in simple frames rested atop a beat up dresser. 

“Would you care to compose a work of art?”

She goggled. “You  _ color _ ?”

“Artistry is a facet of divinity.” He’d never drawn in his life.

“Awesome!” 

Laquisha owned a  _ lot  _ of crayons, in more colors than Castiel could have imagined being produced with dye and wax. She unpinned two of the drawings from the walls, flipped the paper over to the blank side, and passed him one. Green drew Castiel’s attention, and he picked out several shades as she contemplated her page, holding it steady with her injured hand and tapping a brown crayon against her chin. Castiel sketched out grass, but most of his attention was on her. She was so focused as she drew. A house took form beneath her skilled fingers, a triangular roof, a rectangular building with a door and five windows. The sun shone, a garden in a rainbow of shades blossomed, and three figures stood beside house, two as tall as the roof, the other between them with a wide smile drawn with a single thick line of red.

“What did you draw?” she asked, glancing towards him. She frowned. “Is that the ocean?”

“It’s green,” he replied defensively.

“The ocean can be green…”

“It’s grass!”

“It’s lovely grass, Mr. Castiel,” she allowed solemnly.

“What did you draw, Miss Laquisha?” he asked. Blinking, she tittered. “Have I misspoken?”

“You called me  _ miss _ ,” she giggled.

“That is the correct term for a young woman of indeterminate age who is unattached.”

“ _ Miss _ is my  _ mom _ ,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just...me. Just Laquisha.”

“Mister is...most definitely not my father. But, akin to you, I’m simply Castiel.”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “But no more  _ miss _ , Castiel.” She waggled a reproving finger at him.

“Definitely no Miss Castiel,” he agreed.

“You’re...you’re teasing me on purpose!”

“Maybe a little,” he smiled. “Does it bother you? I could stop.”

“You seemed so grumpy and serious before. I like you way better this way!” She grinned, dropping a hand to her side. Her cast  _ thunked _ and Castiel’s chest ached. She was so sweet, so smart, so guileless, and someone had hurt her. Before he left, he  _ would  _ find out who, and he would exact retribution. She pointed at the figures flanking the child in the picture. “This is me with Mom and Dad,” she continued, cheerfulness endearing and incongruous with his grim thoughts. “This is the house Mom’s gonna buy us. And this is our garden!”

“It’s lovely. May I trouble you for hospitality when you move?”

“Oh no!” she gasped, good humor falling away as she went comically aghast. “I didn’t offer you any food! Mom said  _ always  _ offer a guest a snack. Can I get you anything?” She turned toward the door, close behind her back.

“I don’t require sustenance,” Castiel declined. She blinked. “I don’t eat or drink.” 

“Well, um, can I show you around?”

“It would be better that your parents not learn of my presence,” he said reluctantly. However accepting Laquisha was, her parents wouldn’t be so easily convinced that a stranger in their daughter’s bedroom was well-intentioned. He’d have to use grace to convince them, expose his nature, set off the equivalent of an A Bomb alerting Heaven and Hell of his location.

“No worries! They’re not here,” she said brightly, opening the door. The gesture she made to invite him into the apartment matured her, as did her calm acceptance that her parents were absent at 9 PM.

“That’s...unusual…” Castiel proceeded into a narrow hallway.

“Pretty normal.” She shrugged, slipping by him to lead the way. “They work nights. Dad’s a security guard and Mom’s a nurse. Dad’s also got a job at a carwash, and Mom works mornings at a daycare. I don’t see them much, but…” She shook her head, beads on the ends of her braids tinkling together. “That’s their room!” The door was closed. “And the living room.” The hallway widened into a small room with an old television and a tattered couch. “The bathroom’s over there...but I guess you won’t need that?” She waited until he shook his head, then crossed the living room to point through an arch into a darkened space. “And that’s the kitchen.”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s small,” she corrected, grimacing. “And cold. I don’t like it. But it’s home, and I really hope it’ll stay our home, least ‘til Mom buys the house.”

“Why wouldn’t you stay?”

“We got an eviction notice!” For the first time, she sounded like her cheerfulness was a front. “That’s why they’re working so hard. For us. For me.” She sighed. “And it’s lonely.” She shot him a sad smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Castiel.”

“I’m glad to be here, Laquisha.”

Being a friend to Laquisha was different from being friends with the Winchesters. 

They cooked cupcakes as a gift to her parents. She ate batter and frosting by the spoonful. 

They watched cartoons. She taught him the lyrics to the opening songs and laughed when he erred.

They drew pictures, of flowers and animals and an  _ actual _ ocean and cartoon characters. 

They talked, about school and life and Heaven.

It was...it was  _ fun _ .

After midnight, she stretched and yawned. “Do angels sleep?”

“No.”

“Lucky! I wish we didn’t have to...” She yawned again. “But I gotta go to bed.”

“I understand.” He rose and spread his wings, on the verge of taking flight, when--

“Will you tuck me in? Maybe...um…” She looked away, timid for once. “Would you read me a story?”

Castiel had no idea why she was reluctant to make such a simple request, but he accepted that it was difficult for her, smiled, and nodded. “Pick whichever book you’d like.”

Laquisha smiled with relief and headed back to her room. She withdrew a book from under her bed, the cover painted with a smiling girl who bore a strong resemblance to her. She hopped into bed and waited until Castiel pulled the blankets over her. Her uninjured hand played idly with the charms at the ends of her braids as he read aloud about a child learning to care for her hair, and her eyes slipped shut.

Castiel lowered the book and gazed down at her. He hated to bring it up now, but he’d had no chance, and… “Laquisha, how did you hurt your arm?”

“Fell in the playground,” she murmured, mostly asleep, a statement of simple truth.

She hadn’t been abused.

Thank his Father in Heaven.

Reaching out, Castiel cupped the arm, healed it with a trickle of grace, and slipped it under the covers. The cast would be a burden for a few weeks, but calling attention to the miracle would cause trouble, and his efforts insured the wound would heal cleanly, without lingering aches or damage as she grew.

“Good night, Laquisha.”

“Good night, Castiel…”

Sitting beside the bed, he waited and watched until she slipped to sleep.

He’d never spent a better night.

He was glad to have made a friend.

And there  _ was  _ still someone who deserved Castiel’s ire.

A peek into the family’s mail and a flap of his wings brought Castiel to the bedside of their landlord. An older man, he slept restlessly, tossing and turning, and then his eyes popped open.

“Holy sh--”

“Dan Lasup?” he intoned. The man nodded frantic, terrified agreement. “You are on a pathway that leads to Hell. For your hope of salvation, mend your ways. Learn charity and understanding for the unfortunate. Follow the word of the Lord. Obey the Golden Rule.” There wasn’t a glimmer of understanding on Lasup’s face. Castiel rolled his eyes. “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.” There still wasn’t any understanding. Castiel grabbed the front of his nightshirt, hefted him out of bed, and said flatly, “Lower the rent at your shitty properties or face the consequences.”

“Oh, Christ--”

“I am not the Son of God.”

“--sir, uh, Lord--”

“Do not compare me to the Father.”

“--I’ll do better, I will, I’ll lower them,” he babbled, “and I’ll give to charity, and I’ll go to church, and--”

Castiel dropped him to the bed and flew back to the Winchesters’ motel room, blinking against unexpected brightness. Dean collided with him, windmilled his arms, and he caught himself against the wall.

“Where the fuck have you been, Cas? We got work to do!” he snapped. Sam nodded agreement and threw Dean’s duffel bag across the room. Weapons within clattered as Dean snagged it and slung it over his shoulder.

“I was busy,” Cas replied.

“Yeah, well, be less busy. This is important.”

“So is what I did.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Quit being an asshole, Dean,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “What were you up to?”

And, as they checked out of the hotel, got into the Impala, and prepared for the Hunt to come, Castiel told them.

“...yeah, okay,” Dean conceded after they parked, as he loaded his rifle with salt-filled cartridges. “That was damn important. And this Hunt’s actually pretty easy. Sorry I was a douche - but you gotta know it freaks me out when you poof. Leave a fricken note next time!”

“You’re a good friend, Cas,” Sam added warmly.

Castiel smiled.

He was a good friend. To more than just the Winchesters.

  
  



End file.
